


Awake My Soul

by welcometocabeswater



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Masquerade, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, happy endings, pynch - Freeform, so much pining, soul mates, vague hints of gansey's untimely demise???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometocabeswater/pseuds/welcometocabeswater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Adam Parrish lives in a kingdom that forces its subjects to wear masks until they meet their soul mates. Adam knows he doesn't need another half to be whole, but one dance at the masquerade ball with Prince Ronan is enough to make him think having a soulmate wouldn't be so bad after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adam

**Author's Note:**

> Giving credit to Maggie Stiefvater where credit is due. She writes the books, I write the fics. Title creds go to Mumford and Sons for their song of the same name. :)

Adam Parrish was lonesome. The mask over his face chafed where it bit beneath his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Every morning, the adornment went on, and would not come off again until regulations permitted, ordinarily at the end of the day. He resented the very costume he hid behind, knowing he would be spending one more day as something other than himself; fooling the world until he finally met his other half.

He didn’t want another half. He was already a whole, and life behind a permanent mask would never change that. He saw the way people locked eyes across a room and just like that, their masks would fall away to reveal the true soul underneath. He passed by couples on the street, walking hand in hand, without a care in the world, nor a shroud upon their eyes. They had a certain freedom Adam knew he would never have, when he knew he would forever be a lone party of one. 

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe this was his destiny, to brave the world alone, and learn to fall in love with himself.

It didn’t stop him from attending the annual masquerade. Adam Parrish may have been lonesome, but he was no different from all others, still trapped behind their own masks, desperate for a reprieve. He was one in a million, only partially seen by the world. And the masquerade ball was his biggest chance to find his supposed other half.

If they were even out there…

The masquerade, Adam thought, was nothing more than a farce. Every year, he set foot upon the marble palace steps with cynicism in his heart. No one ever saw him. Not for what he truly was…

Couples whirled upon the dance floor, with the fine sweep of skirts and capes trailing behind. Some couples swirled under gleaming, starry lights, masks still well-afixed, and some, utterly without. That was precisely the name of the game. Statistically speaking, Adam supposed if one danced with enough partners throughout the night, they were bound to find the one. Yet many a year, he spent shying into corners and watching events unfold for all others.

Not tonight. Tonight had other plans for him.

A simple tap on the shoulder found him spun around on polished boots, straight into the arms of a man sporting a mask of dark feathers, glinting a myriad of deep blues under the glittering chandelier. The disguise tapered down the slope of his nose, pressing downward into a sharp crooked beak. A raven boy. 

He was all sharp jutting angles, stiff vertebrae, and intense stormy gaze. Adam’s heart stumbled. He reached up to ensure his own leafy mask was still firmly in place. 

It hadn’t budged.

The man before him hinged downward in a stiff bow and offered his hand. Adam already felt himself plunging, down, down, into the fairytale rabbit hole they called _fascination_ , or even something stronger still. With one shared, lingering glance and one accepted hand in his, he was drunk with possibilities. One bite would make him larger than life; one sip, the smallest molecule in the universe. Which was he to this mysterious raven boy?

They danced, hand to waist, hand to shoulder, an added couple to the rainbow of silken fabrics, though to them, the colour spectrum fell away to just this: the verdant spray of woods and the ebony of midnight skies. The pearl beads intricately woven across Adam’s mask to mimic fine droplets of dew matched his partner’s eyes, bluer than a rippling lake surface at dawn. Adam drank in every hint of truth in this man’s face, from penetrating eyes, steady on him, to cutting jaw line, to his thin mouth, edged into a smirking challenge. 

Adam didn’t know much, but he knew he wanted this man to be _it_ for him. Maybe then he’d have someone to be lonesome with… 

Their song dissolved to its natural end, until all that remain was them, two boys standing chest to chest, hands still pressed home against firm bodies. The pause while musicians shuffled their repertoire lasted mere seconds, but for Adam, it stretched on infinitely. He ducked his chin, waiting with baited breath for their masks to slip.

Seconds ticked by and still, their masks held firm. 

The band struck up again. Here they were, still strangers, still smothered by oppressive lies slapped across their faces. Adam’s heart sank heavy to his toes. The moment passed.

He was not the one.

With his mask still solidly in place and bleeding heart upon his sleeve, he fled.

Little did he know, one bemused Ronan Lynch leaned down to pluck the three autumn leaves that had fallen at his feet. Not only was Adam Parrish’s mask falling away, it was beginning to disintegrate. He admired the intricate braids of veins traveling up and down each leaf before slipping them each into his cloak pocket to mingle with three raven feathers moulting from his own disguise.

He would find his sad-eyed forest boy again if it was the last thing he did.


	2. Ronan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan Lynch, Prince of Virginia's mask fell off at age 15. He's spent the last two years denying his fate and causing mayhem before finally meeting the soulmate that gained him freedom from his disguise.

I.

 

Ronan Lynch, Prince of Virginia, kept secrets by the fistful. His biggest secret was this: while all his subjects were forced to live in hiding, beneath masks until their soul mates manifested, His Royal Highness donned his mask voluntarily.

When his shroud fell off at the masquerade two years previously, he quietly affixed it to his face once more to join the ranks of those whose love remained unrequited. Many lived with the shame crawling through them day by day, knowing they had found their soul mate, but their soul mate’s mask remained well intact. There was no greater shame than being alone, naked, and unmasked. Not even living out your years having never known life without a disguise. Because being alone and unmasked meant admitting defeat; it meant you had no one else to live for but yourself. So time and time again, unrequited lovers slipped the masks back over their eyes and tied their ribbons with quivering fingers, holding on to hope that if the mask were firmly secured once more, they would receive a second chance; beat the system into finding them a new mate. After all, how could there be only one person for everyone?

Two things happened the day the prince’s mask fell off.

 

One: his gaze fell upon his one true love from across the room.

Two: his father, the king, died within the hour, leaving him second in line to the throne.

 

 II.

 

Niall Lynch may not have been the most just of kings, but Ronan loved him fiercely. Few others in this world could boast possession of the prince’s fiercest love. When he was a child, he cast off the notion of soul mates as a farce. Why would he possibly want to fall in love when he had his father’s affection in his grasp and every beck and call? By the age of fourteen, Ronan witnessed unrequited lovers first hand and his line of thinking became, _if I never find someone else, at least I have my father_.

 Now, he didn’t even have that.

 When Ronan’s mask fell off that fateful night at the faintest glimpse of a fair freckled face hidden beneath a leafy disguise, he was ambivalent. He had no solid proof the forest boy _was_ the trigger to his mask falling off, so brief a glance they shared. The trigger could have been anyone…

What’s more, it was far from becoming of a prince to fall in love with another _boy_. So he chocked it up to coincidence and took his usual turn about the room, shaking hands and milling with the king’s court, with not a thing different but the fresh air against his cheeks for the first time in his public young life.

Whispers rose up amongst the gathering, naturally, the buzz of the hive collective. Again and again, his subjects pondered and craned their necks in search for the girl who stole the middle prince’s heart.

But only Ronan knew it was no girl.

He went in search for his father and answers (and perhaps a dash of acceptance and forgiveness), but would find nothing but an unfortunate corpse, set upon by a poison chalice by the night’s end. And Ronan Lynch was still no closer to identifying his fate close at hand.

He did not know whether his love was unrequited, or if a second boy lingered within the city’s walls; within his _reach_ who also fretted over his lost mask without a single soul mate gained. But with the loss of King Niall, Ronan began to associate with the Unrequiteds more and more each day. He was an orphan; a widow, empty and hollowed out of all whom he loved and who loved him. His brother, Declan, although diplomatic beneath his mask, cast a dark shadow over the city as he took the throne. He flung Ronan aside, treating him like the outcast he was; as the humiliation who would let the royal family down.

Thus Ronan came to be, a princely vagabond, piecing a new mask over his eyes, raven black- the insignia of an Unrequited. Here, he would hide, out in the streets, far more than he ever had behind his old mask from his mount beside his father’s throne. He shaved off his lovely, dark hair, leaving nothing but a broken boy, shatters leaving dangerous edges along his every joint and curve. No one would recognize the prince for what he was now: a vagrant, disinterested in finding his other half, whether they were out there or not. His original mask was already long lost. If his soul mate truly were out there, they would have found him by now. And they would have chosen a kinder day to cleave him from his father’s fond grasp.

Instead of looking for _love at first sight_ , Ronan went in search for trouble. Duels, although illegal in these parts, were the very thing, especially when laced with opium and a touch of spirits. He drowned his bitter cynicism in the fight, sword clash against sword, oh so smooth and satisfying, straight down to his quick-stepping feet. He preferred this dance far more than that of the ball, any day.

He refused to attend the next year’s masquerade, marking the first anniversary of Declan Lynch’s ascension, and in conjunction, King Niall’s death. Ronan declined the invitation, although his presence was all but demanded of him. He was no longer welcome in the castle. His brother’s insistence upon his presence was a mere formality. And Ronan was tired of helping Declan save face.

 

III.

 

The following year, Ronan only came because his younger brother, Matthew begged it of him. As the youngest and most pure-hearted royal brother, Matthew Lynch was the exception to every rule. Expectations rolled off his back with ease and luck Declan and Ronan only wished they possessed. Matthew didn’t need to keep up appearances, or say precisely the right things, or fall in love with the correct person. With the pressures of the kingdom lost on him, young Prince Matthew faced royal responsibility with a gracious smile that made him the darling of the court. Following tradition was second nature to Matthew, because it never hurt him, and never would.

When Ronan came to him for the first time in two years, he wasn’t entirely convinced Matthew hadn’t sent for him to teach him a lesson.

Matthew smiled his tranquil smile that spoke of meadows and climbing trees high enough to admire the whole city at first sight of his wayward brother. He was not alone. Beside him on the stone wall enclosing the palace was a boy, beaming as brightly as Matthew, two twin grins, with nothing but unadulterated mirth. Matthew’s arm flung wide around the other boy’s shoulder, and their fair hair mingled where their temples pressed close, as if they had just finished sharing a very private joke between them. They looked blissfully happy together, and for one perfectly good reason.

Their masks were off.

“Ronan!” Matthew called, lifting his free arm to wave at him with vigor. He released the boy beside him to hop off the wall with careless grace only the youngest Lynch boy could possess.

Ronan was suddenly acutely aware of his dark mask pressing against his cheekbones. His little brother…

“Ronan,” Matthew said again, now with a foot between them and his friend by his side. “This is Noah!” The boy named Noah raised a hand in an overly friendly wave. Ronan couldn’t help but stare, fixated upon these two dimpled faces, set in permanent grin. He tried not to dwell on the way Matthew’s fingers twined around Noah’s at their side.

“You…” Ronan licked his lips, suddenly at a loss for words. His brow furrowed into a deep v across his forehead. “Does Declan know about this?”

Matthew waved his free hand in dismissal with a little _pssh_ escaping his lips. “Ronan, he doesn’t care. No _one_ cares. All they care about is the fact that I’ve found my other half. It doesn’t matter who they are. Just that I’m here and so is he. And we’re _happy_.”

Ronan let out a hum of derision, suddenly itching to escape this encounter immediately. Of course Matthew, the kingdom’s favourite, would be lauded for the very thing that had cast his elder brother out. Ronan had no time for such hypocritical double standards.

Sensing his brother’s frenetic need to escape, Matthew reeled Ronan in with a tug to his arm. “Ronan, just… think about it. Alright?”

A voice piped up quiet and abashed from behind them, as if it weren’t really there. “You are not your mask.” Noah’s boot scuffed at the dirt floor, his gaze cast downward. The descending slope of eyelashes and brows spoke of a boy wise beyond his years, surprised at the words spilt forth from his mouth. Those fair brows furrowed into a v’s focus. “You never were.”

 

 IV.

 

Despite how unsettled Noah left him, Ronan _did_ think about it. He thought about the boy with the slender hands and freckled skin peaking out from worn leather collars and sleeves… He thought about that split second flash moment it had taken him to imprint him into his memories, even now, after refusing to believe. He began to wonder if he ever _stopped_ believing in the first place, or if he’d simply let his sad forest boy gestate beneath the very surface of his mind, waiting to emerge, fully formed all along. He imagined him a blacksmith’s apprentice with those hands, firm and solid around a hammer, yet grimy with soot and dirt. He imagined him a gentle friend to horses, those hands trailing a soothing caress across a tense flank before sliding one fresh shoe onto its hoof, no harm done. He imagined him an impassioned rider, head bent down low against his horse’s mane as they flew into the night, the pair of them: beauty and the beast.

He imagined wanting him.

He imagined some more.

He _wanted_.

 

 V.

 

With two years behind them, Ronan worried his forest boy had long since moved on; that he had found a soul mate of his own. One who wasn’t _His Royal Highness._ Perhaps he wouldn’t come to this year’s ball at all. Perhaps Ronan’s opportunity was already lost before it had begun…

But as Ronan descended the stairs to trumpets’ blare, there he was, loitering quietly near the buffet table, completely absorbed in his thoughts and utterly disinterested in the princes’ entrance. His book in hand kept him company as he reached up to scratch at his mask where it chafed across his brow with one elegant hand. Ronan’s breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat and between the two failed bodily processes, the whole marching band of working parts within him threatened to crash in a tangle of squawking instruments. The carefully tied knot of ribbons holding his mask aloft already felt looser under the revelation. He could already hear the lofty buzz of rumour permeating the room at the sight of the prodigal middle prince, wearing an Unrequited raven mask. No one had quite caught wind of the new and improved Ronan Lynch, adorned with a dangerous new disguise to match a dangerous new cynical face.

Until now.

His foot caught and nearly missed the last few steps. Matthew caught him by the elbow from a step or two behind. He felt his brother’s fingers squeeze around his arm, his face leaned in close over his shoulder. “Go out there and find him,” came his whisper’s breath against his ear. “And don’t let him go.”

Ronan cleared his throat with a curt nod and the moment cleared. Matthew pulled away, straightened his waist coat and coaxed him into the waiting din of their subjects. The obligatory applause rose up from the crowd as its three handsome princes formally set foot within the banquet hall. Matthew sought Noah immediately, all elbows and knees digging in to reach the front row of spectators. Ronan gave himself enough time to watch them bow low to one another before taking up the first dance of the evening. His heart swelled with the pang of bittersweet pride in his brother, and misery for what he himself did not quite have in his grasp.

He hoped tonight, his luck would change.

 

 VI.

 

Within minutes, a tap on the shoulder changed everything. They danced, whirled about the room, conforming to society’s expectations of this mad mating ritual. And as they danced, for the first time since Ronan first laid eyes on him, his sad forest boy gazed right back, his chronically downturned lip ticked into neutral to match the look of wonder, plain on his face. He didn’t know whether it was mutual realization that dawned, or being within the grip of a royal, but Ronan hoped against all else for the former. The boy who inherited kind Mother Nature’s eyes seemed far from the type who cared for being entrenched in royal politics. That made two of them… 

For three blissful minutes they danced. For three blissful minutes, they saw each other eye to eye through their disguises, for precisely who they were: two boys who could fall in love with each other. From here, up close, the notion didn’t seem nearly as terrifying. Ronan knew with steadily growing certainty that he could fall in love with this boy. He suspected he already had.

Within three seconds of the music drawing to an end, his love had fled, leaving three golden leaves of his glittering mask behind.

 

 VII.

 

Ronan didn’t have the time to morn for his loss. He knew now. He knew what he had known all along. This boy; this man was worth chasing. And he would find him. It wasn’t an immediate run across the foyer, burst open the palace doors and pursue his fleeing lover into the night type of chase. Ronan afforded him a bit more respect than that. For how quickly events unfolded between them in those three minutes, Ronan barely had time to register the boy’s tearful flight until he was down the steps. Would that he could clap a hand to his shoulder, brandish the mingled raven feathers and leaves in his pocket… But he was already gone, leaving Ronan equal parts bewildered and determined by the absence.

For days, he enquired upon the boy with the leaf mask to no avail. He was a mystery, a slip of smoke on the horizon. How did one find something that didn’t want to be found with nothing but one small token keepsake to unravel the clues? Even a prince with all the resources in the world couldn’t quite crack the code.

He walked the streets, searching, searching for a hint, a foot print, a trail of ornamental leaves to lead him to his prize. But his love remained aloof.

“You need to talk to the soothsayer,” Noah informed him blithely one day over dinner, his gaze falling heavy and philosophical on his soup, as if fishing for answers in its contents. Matthew beamed at him from across the table. The adoration radiating between the pair of them made Ronan’s stomach clench with wanting around warm potatoes and mead.

“Will she tell me the truth or more riddles?” His fingers clenched around the wood of the table, unknowing. The hunt was beginning to wear thin. Playing with magic was a ridiculous venture when cold hard fact lay in front of him, bearing his future, not these wishy-washy maybes.

“Truth,” Noah confirmed around a spoonful. “All truth. It just takes some parsing is all.”

“We’ll find him, Ronan,” Matthew assured with a firm nod. “Have faith. Noah has a knack for finding things. And the soothsayer… together, they’ll lead you to him. I’m sure of it.”

Ronan let out a sigh, pushing his bowl away. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t have quite as much unerring optimism as you do, Matt.”

“Just go,” Matthew insisted. “Please. For me.”

“I’ll go with you,” Noah piped up and with that, the conversation came to a close. They were going to see the soothsayer, and Ronan would be that much closer, and that much farther from sealing his fate.

 

VIII. 

 

Whatever Ronan imagined, (an old hag with a lazy, wandering eye and clawed fingers), the soothsayer was anything but. The cushy red velvet chair fairly ensconced her tiny form where she sat, but her presence loomed larger than Ronan and Noah altogether. Pins adorned her dark hair, glittering against the lamplight, keeping braided rolls securely in place at the back of her head. Some wayward strands escaped, falling errant around her face as she greeted them. She was maskless, but exuded the energy of a person whose loss of disguise came with far greater tragedies she wished to take back.

“You’re looking for something,” she murmured instantly, pointing a finger directly at Ronan. She was a jingle of bangles around wrists and belts around her waist, keeping mismatched fabrics in harmony.

“Did you see that in your crystal ball there?” Ronan deadpanned with a sniff, crossing his arms over his chest.

The soothsayer watched him intently, unamused. “No. Your friend here did. I don’t trade in magic. I’m simply here to amplify his.”

Ronan blinked. Noah beamed.

“Come here often then?” Ronan inquired of his companion, no answer necessary.

“Yes, actually. Blue and I are good friends.” The soothsayer with the ridiculous name smiled at him the way Matthew had only an hour before. He shook off the uncomfortable stench of easy camaraderie Noah clearly strengthened everywhere he went. Ronan wondered absently if that was magic too.

“Shall we?” Blue asked, reaching out her hands, palm up, ready for each boy to take. Ronan raised a sharp brow, to which Noah and Blue both sent him exasperated confirmation. He took Blue’s right. Noah took her left.

And so they began.

 

VIX.

 

Adam Parrish forced himself to push the raven boy aside. The vagrant wasn’t meant for him. Fate made it abundantly clear when neither mask slipped from their faces. Besides, he ran with the Unrequiteds. Everyone knew what trouble the raven masked Unrequiteds caused. With their hedonistic duels and opium dens, whores and horse races… He was trouble, just like the rest of them... And Adam deserved better.

For a minute there, he thought… he thought he could take the danger by the hand, and run alongside it, long into the night and share its stories and every adventure. Yet here he was, a cast-off apprentice with an uncanny thirst for knowledge whose fate was nothing but a joke to the universe.

He was tired of the universe’s unkindness.

He would build his own fate if he had to. Not even if he _had_ to. Adam Parrish made his own destiny. The pursuit would simply carry on alone, as planned.

He let out a long, low sigh, catching a glimpse of himself, this stranger staring back at him through his looking glass. The Adam Parrish behind the mask was unrecognizable to him. Who was this boy beneath? What did he look like, with a fresh breeze, the sun on his face, and a lover on his arm, or wrapped around his waist, or calling him whimsically to return to bed…? Did he look any differently than the boy who slept in this bed at night, and rose in the morning, alone to fit the disguise back into place like monotonous clockwork?

Did a smile tick his lips in the corners?

Adam tried one little uptick on for size. The smile draped across his lips in the mirror still looked pained, like a tapestry hung over a wall to cover up a murder scene.

Adam Parrish may build his own destiny, but happiness was not quite his to master.

He needed companionship for that…

His fingers traced the bubbling pearls woven into his mask, preparation for his evening when a tap on his window made him pause, startled by the intrusive sound. A second pebble collided with the glass before he reached the window and lifted the latch.

His breath hitched.

There, in the courtyard, stood his raven boy, in all his dark, brooding splendor, arms outstretched as if welcoming guests to his sweeping abode instead of intruding on Adam’s quaint two story shack.

His raven feathered mask hid the greatest hint of emotions in the dusky dark, but his eyes shone bright and clear, a sharp mimicry of the moonlight dappling the pines surrounding him. A true night creature, two stories below.

He was reaching for something in the pocket of his cloak with his broad, boxer’s hands. Out came one, two, three leaves, exactly identical to those on Adam’s own mask. He found his fingers reaching up once more to trace the outline of his autumnal disguise as out of the other pocket came one, two, three raven feathers, a perfect match for those upon the boy’s face. Adam could see now, the uneven spray of feathers across the right side of the raven boy’s mask where the three adornments must have molted.

Which meant…

There, on the right side of his own mask, was a blank space where three leaves must have been.

They were a mirror image of disintegrating disguises, one gazing up into a galaxy, one gazing down into an ocean’s abyss. The raven boy’s hands dipped back into his pockets, his treasures disappearing alongside them.

When next his hands re-emerged, they reached up for the crown of his head… taking two ribbon cords between thumb and forefinger of each hand.

Adam Parrish stopped breathing as Ronan Lynch untied his mask.

And simply…

Let it…

 

F

            a

                        l

                                    l.

 

With shaking hands, Adam slammed his window shut.

And ran.

Down winding steps he rushed, leaves fluttering down around him like the first autumnal cold snap, leaving a rainbow of earth tones in his trail, evidence of his latest flight.

The door stuck under his firm grasp as he pulled. Heart pounding, he jimmied the lock while simultaneously pounding at the wooden surface in his haste.

He finally sprung free, out into the cool night air, upon the forward momentum of the wood under his impatient palms. Adam stumbled, nearly losing his footing completely.

The door slammed behind him.

He swallowed.

There.

He.

Was. 

Brighter than any star. Greater than anything the universe could throw at him. There he was.

They met each other halfway, in a vigorous collision of bodies and tangle of limbs fitting of a supernova, obliterating into the void.

That face. Adam had to touch that face, with all its sharp edges and mapped challenges. His thumbs traced the jut of high cheekbones, fingertips moving with the miracle transformation of a Cheshire cat grin across the knife’s edge of his mouth. Adam’s own mouth let out a little winded _hah_ in utter veneration of the moment, this perfect moment he never thought he would get to have.

Laugh lines. He had impossible little laugh lines around those intense, somber blue eyes. And dark brows that jutted out like an arrow’s point. This fierce predator of a boy. He was more hawk than raven.

Adam pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the taper of one brow as arms closed around him, safe and secure. His fingers slid up into the sparse thicket of close-cropped hair at his nape and up over the crown of his head where ribbon had once tied taut across his skull.

He kissed his way down the trail his fingers took, down the path of his jaw, until finally, _finally_ his lips found their home against a second pair, parted and waiting for the heavy seal of destiny to claim them.

Single handed, as he and Adam Parrish kissed, Ronan Lynch reached up and untied the remaining mask caught between them. With a flutter of finality, the last vestment of dishonesty fluttered down at their feet to mingle with its mate.

Cool night air breathed kind blessings against Adam’s face, tranquil felicitations  to his newfound freedom to finally be his own man.

Against Ronan’s mouth, Adam smiled, a perfect, unbroken thing.


End file.
